Chapter 3
Ysabel Archambeau jumped at the sound of something scurrying in the darkness. The battery-operated lamp she was given was waning, and the sounds around her grew louder. Or perhaps her imagination grew louder. The stench of old earth, stale air, and years of decay no longer registered. She’d been left in this long-forgotten crypt for … She closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there. Food and bottled water came irregularly. The bucket she used for her personal needs was changed when food was delivered.
A cot, a battery-operated light, and a sleeping bag were the only comforts provided. She was in Paris. She knew that because she’d toured the underground catacombs before. However, the ruins she was trapped in weren’t preserved like the ones the Paris Musée maintained. No, she was being hidden, and the extent of the catacombs was vast. No one would find her down here.
She curled up on the sleeping bag and stared at the dull light illuminating the limestone walls of her prison. She’d been warned. Her father’s contacts in Corsica had told her not to go too far out, to stay within sight of the small mountain village, and to be cautious. But, no, of course, she had to go a bit too far. She rolled her eyes. Her bravado had not only gotten her into this mess but had exacerbated it.
Ysabel wiped a tear. “Stop. You did this to yourself.” Her voice bounced off the limestone walls surrounding her. Stupid. Idiot. She glanced up at the low ceiling. “Heath, God, I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. If she could spin back time, there was so much she’d do differently. Words she’d never utter, decisions she’d never make, actions she would never take, but alas, she couldn’t go back, and from where she huddled, it seemed going forward wouldn’t be an option for long.
That damn envelope. Ysabel looked at the ring on her finger. It belonged to her mother and was in the envelope with the documents delivered to her at her mother’s gravesite. She was the only mourner until the man had arrived. Another mysterious man, another mysterious envelope. She’d received the first messenger letter informing her of her mother’s death and the date and time of her graveside service while at practice.
Her father had been furious when she’d made it back to Paris. He’d ranted on and on about security risks and the need to know where she was. Finally, to stop his tirade, she admitted that she’d gone to her mother’s funeral and showed him what had been given to her. Well, everything but the ring. She wanted to keep it and wasn’t going to risk her father’s temper.
Her father never spoke of her mother, so she didn’t tell him she’d go to the small town on the coast. He wouldn’t have allowed it. Being an adult, she could do what she wanted, yet incurring the displeasure of her father was not an easy thing. She’d walked a fine line all her life. Her father expected her to be the best, to conform to his wishes and not rock the boat. She’d grown up ensuring she not only didn’t rock the boat; hell, she barely moved. Her father was strict; he was the absolute power in her life. She’d been whipped with a belt when she misbehaved. She’d been sent away to boarding school and to the States, and still, she loved him, craved his approval, and worked so damn hard for any kindness.
Within the last five years, sitting still so as to not attract her father’s attention had become impossible. She’d lived in her own apartment she paid for, had a career she loved, and had made friends. The breathing room and separation from the constant oversight had allowed her to grow and be free. Then she met Heath, and her world blossomed into a joy she never believed she’d have the privilege of receiving. She received his love, approval, kindness, and support without question and without sacrifice. He allowed her to blossom into who she’d become. Still, there was that young girl yearning for her father’s affection and approval under the warmth of her relationship with Heath. That scared little girl would probably never go away, no matter how much Heath loved her.
Going to the funeral was a last minute decision. So, she stood beside a casket and a hole in the ground and listened to the priest. The confusion of indifference and sadness she felt watching the coffin lower into the ground was what she’d focused on until she saw the polished brown shoes in front of her. Ysabel looked up as a man handed her an envelope before he walked away without explanation.
She never knew her mother. The woman her father had said would bring nothing but heartbreak had died, and she’d felt … almost nothing. Ysabel shook her head. She should have mourned the loss of her mom. The loss of a relationship she’d never have, but she didn’t. Her father had been her only parent for as long as she could remember. She”d had a privileged life, as he reminded her regularly. Her father was extremely wealthy and had quadrupled his fortune when cryptocurrency was in its infancy. He sent her to the best schools and provided her with the best violin teachers money could buy, yet his time was something she’d never received. So, her love of music filled her life, and she pursued classical violin above all things until Heath came into her life.
“You have roses again.”
At her friend Aimee’s words, Ysabel looked up from where she was carefully encasing her Stradivarius.
“The same man?”
Ysabel smiled and reached for the card Aimee plucked from the bouquet and handed to her. “Of course, who else sends you flowers?”
Ysabel shook her head and read the note. “He’s asking to meet for drinks.”
Aimee’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, that’s new. Where?”
Ysabel handed her the card and finished securing her violin. “I can’t.”
“Why not? This is in the 16th Arrondissement. It’s safe.” Aimee handed her back the note. “I can go with you, and if he’s weird, we’ll leave together. He’s sent you roses after every show for the last four months. That should be worth a drink with him, at least.” Aimee buried her nose in the roses and drew a breath. “Lovely.”
“No. My father would have an aneurysm. You know how he is.”
“If we listened to our fathers, none of us would have sex. Besides, he’s not paying your bills. Don’t let him stop you from having a life, Ysabel. Sex isn’t a bad thing. You should try it sometime.” Aimee laughed when Ysabel jerked her head in her friend”s direction. Aimee laughed loudly and spread her arms open wide. “What? Am I wrong?”
Ysabel lowered her eyes and felt her cheeks heat. “No, not wrong, just loud.” Continuing in a whisper as she glanced around the room where the musicians prepared before and after shows, she said, “And I’ve had sex before.”
Aimee leaned into her and glanced toward the few remaining musicians. “I bet they’ve had sex, too.”
Ysabel gave a half-hearted, nervous laugh and picked up her case. “Probably.”
“So, are we going?” Aimee grabbed her case. When Ysabel hesitated, Aimee jumped on her toes and squealed. “I’ll pay for the car ride.”
Ysabel held up her hand. “If he’s weird, we’re gone, and you can never tell my father.” Her father’s disdain for everyone was legendary. He wasn’t exactly a warm person, and if she made him mad, life could become difficult.
“I promise, and I never see your father. Neither do you, so how will he know?” Aimee made a motion of crossing her heart. “Let’s go.”
Thirty minutes later, Ysabel knew why her secret admirer had never signed his last name. The man turned out to be a very recognizable and married politician. Of course, Aimee made her excuses and left once she recognized the attractive man as a wealthy, prominent government figure. That was Aimee’s definition of not weird, it seemed. Ysabel wasn’t amused by her friend”s stage wink as she left.
Ysabel attempted to leave with Aimee, but the Assembleé Nationale leader placed his hand over her arm and prevented her from moving. The pleasant smile turned into almost a sneer. “You will have a drink with me. You owe me this much. A frog such as yourself should be honored to be seen with a man like me. Your talent is impressive, and I have a proposition for you.”
The truth of his words cut her like a razor blade. She wasn’t beautiful like Aimee, but she wasn’t the pursuer either. This man had the audacity to insult her after spending four months sending her flowers? Ysabel jerked her arm away. She glanced around, looking for any way to leave the table without making a scene. She hissed, “I owe you nothing.”
“I’d say you owe me more than a drink. You accept my gifts.” The man poured her a glass of champagne, which she wouldn’t touch. A shiver of disgust traveled over her skin.
“There you are. It’s good to see you again. Thank you for meeting me here tonight.”
Ysabel jumped at the voice beside her. She glanced up at the attractive man. He was unfamiliar but had a kind look in his eyes. Still, she didn’t know him. “Ah …”
“Excuse me, the lady is with me.” The politician sneered at the gentleman.
“Really? We have had a date scheduled for several weeks.” The man’s confusion appeared sincere. “Right?” he asked her. His American accent coming through clearly in his French. The “r” not being pronounced correctly by Americans was an easy tell.
She scrambled to understand the American was giving her a way out of this situation. When it finally crystallized in her mind, she smiled at him. “Yes. That’s right. The gentleman here is the one I told you about who’s been sending me flowers after my shows. He suggested I meet him for a drink, and since I knew you’d be here, I thought it wouldn’t hurt, but he’s been rather insistent.” Ysabel lowered her gaze and shot a disgusted look across to the politician.
“Really?” Her savior cocked his head. “The ring on your finger would suggest you’re married. My date isn’t the type of woman you’re after. She has better taste. You should find another who may be grateful for your time and attention. Of course, I’m assuming your wife knows about your pursuits?” The man’s words were pointed and a bit too loud, rather like an American. The quiet conversations in the room dimmed even further. The politician glanced around nervously and leaned back. The hatred in his eyes was directed at the man beside her.
“Leave. Now,” he hissed.
Ysabel took the opportunity to stand. “What a marvelous idea. Please don’t send me any more flowers. I do not want them.” She paused and lowered her voice even further. “And if you wanted to influence my father, you chose the wrong way. I’ll make sure he knows what happened here tonight. Don’t expect a contribution to your party.” Ysabel stood up after retrieving her violin case from under the table and walked away with her new friend.
He motioned to a table, and she slid into the booth, placing her violin beside her. She was shaking from the encounter. “Thank you so much,” Ysabel spoke in English to him.
He answered in kind. “Not a problem. It looked like you needed rescuing.”
“How did you know?” Ysabel wasn’t ready to jump from the political hot pan into the unknown fire.
“The gentleman who you were sitting with was …” The American shrugged.
“A jerk,” Ysabel said quietly, but the man heard her and smiled.
The waiter came up to them, and her rescuer cocked his head. “Would you care to have a drink or perhaps dinner?”
“Let’s start with a drink.” Ysabel smiled back at the handsome American. He waited for her to give her order, then ordered the typical American drink. Whiskey.
“What’s your name?”
“Heath Morris, and in full disclosure, I want you to know I recognized you when you walked in. I went to the Philharmonie de Paris several months ago and was lucky enough to watch you play as first chair during your performance of Paganini’s Twenty-Fourth Caprice. Of course, your name may have been mentioned in the program, but unfortunately, I didn’t and still don’t remember it.”
“I’m Ysabel Archambeau.”
He smiled widely. “A beautiful name. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
Ysabel smiled at the typical American greeting. She enjoyed her time in America while she studied music. It was the most interesting time of her life.
When their drinks arrived, they each took a sip. “So, Mr. Morris?—”
“Heath, please.”
“Heath,” she conceded. “What do you do when you’re not rescuing damsels in distress and attending classical concerts?”
“I work as a freelance consultant for an American company. A troubleshooter of sorts.” The man shrugged. “It’s boring but profitable. May I ask who your father is? You bandied him about like a saber just now.”
“Pierre Archambeau.” She studied his face, looking for a reaction.
The man took a drink of his whiskey and frowned. “And he’s … important?”
Ysabel laughed at his confusion. “He’s wealthy, yes.”
“Ah, well, money is a motivator to some, but in reality, when you have enough to do what gives you pleasure, do you need more?”
“I would think not. Do you have enough?” She wasn’t being nosey; she was ensuring he wasn’t looking for an introduction to her father.
He chuckled. “I do. Would you like to see my bank accounts?”
Her eyes popped open, and she hurried to say, “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No, no offense taken. After witnessing what was going on at that table, I assure you I understand why you’d ask. I have no desire to meet your father.” He chuckled. “And while I enjoy classical music, I listen to more modern music as a matter of preference. I apologize if either of those statements offends you.”
She smiled at him. “No offense taken. Are you in Paris for business?”
“No, I live in Paris most of the year and travel back to the States and other countries as my business dictates. I own an apartment not far from here, which is why I was fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time for you tonight.”
“Which I appreciate more than you realize. I’ve never done anything remotely this spontaneous before, but …”
“He sent flowers and asked nicely?”
She shook her head and sighed. “He sent flowers after every performance for the last four months and never signed his last name. Tonight, he asked to meet for a drink. I thought I was being wise by bringing Aimee with me, but she wasn’t much help.”
“Well, Mr. Flower’s loss is my gain.” He lifted his drink in a silent toast.
Ysabel took a sip of hers as well. “His name isn’t Flowers.”
“Does it concern you I don’t care what his name is?” Heath asked as the waiter stopped by again. “Would you like to eat dinner with me? I’m hungry and would love the company.”
Ysabel smiled at the man across from her. “I’d be delighted.”
Heath.That first meeting was so random, and they’d visited, ate, and drank until the establishment closed. He called a taxi for her, paid the driver far too much money for the short trip to her home, and watched until the taxi turned the corner. It was the beginning of a whirlwind romance. She’d loved him with a desperation that had initially scared her.
Passion. Ah, the romanticized love she’d read about but had never experienced. It was real, and her passion was reserved for Heath. She knew the universe had delivered him into her orbit for a reason. They were perfect for each other. Others had wanted attention and time she couldn’t give them. Not Heath. Somehow, he understood her professional drive and need for perfection in her music. He understood the time her efforts took from her life and supported her. Heath was a breath of fresh air. He allowed her to be herself and loved her even with her imperfections. It was a freedom she’d never had before. Her father wouldn’t tolerate anything but perfection, and his standard was impossible to reach. Each triumph she reached in her career and life, he’d belittle and demand more.
The lamp flickered and then died. Ysabel wrapped herself in the sleeping bag and prayed she wouldn’t be forgotten and left to die. There was so much life left to live. Please, Heath, please forgive me. I love you.
* * *
The phone rangfive minutes after Harbinger hung up with Fury and Anubis. He was expecting the call. Smoke didn’t wait for him to say a word before blurting out, “What’s going on? Ysabel is missing?”
“Hey. You got the brief quickly.” Harbinger dropped and sat down on the chair in his comm room. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted broadcast over public frequencies. “Are we secure?”
“Of course.” Smoke sounded offended. “What’s going on?”
“Her fucking father convinced her to break off the engagement. Something is up with him, Smoke. My gut is telling me what I just saw was a fucking act. I can’t trust him. I won’t.”
“Dude, we’ve cleared Ysabel as you asked before you proposed. The background on him was suspended when she broke off the engagement. I started it again when Fury called me. We’re doing a deep dive into all things Archambeau. CCS and Flack have it as a priority.”
“Thank you. Archambeau is a snake. I’ve always suspected it.”
“Yeah, well, somehow, he’s now in bed with one of the deadliest men on our scope. Abrasha Molchalin is a bastard of the highest caliber. We’ve had dealings with him before.”
“I gathered by Fury’s comments.” Harbinger closed his eyes. “She’s a pawn, again. Just like she was the first night I met her. I did some digging on that politician. He wanted to use her for her father’s connections. He may have been dissuaded.” Harbinger had paid the man a visit and ensured Ysabel would never be contacted again.
“You didn’t tell me that part. I don’t blame you, though. I probably would’ve done the same thing. But knowing Charley, she would’ve punched out the guy and then threatened to castrate him if he approached her again.”
“Your wife is scary.” Harbinger chuckled. The woman was a firecracker and high up in Guardian. How high up, he didn’t know and had the sense not to ask.
“She is.” Smoke was quiet for a moment before saying, “I knew you’d been watching Ysabel for some time before you approached her that night, right?”
“Yeah. I went to a couple of concerts in disguise.” Try seven. Harbinger had been so entranced by Ysabel that just watching her play was a treat. He’d wanted to make sure she wasn’t married or dating anyone before approaching her. Knowing others in his group had managed to have long-term relationships had given him the thought that maybe, just maybe, if they hit it off, he could make it work. But he was being cautious. What he did for a living wasn’t without jeopardy. Everyone he allowed into his life needed to be thoroughly checked out, and he didn’t want to ask Guardian to run a background on her if the relationship had no chance of happening. He wasn’t sure how to meet her, so he fell back on what he knew and what he was trained to do. He watched who she interacted with, where she went, found out where she lived, and noticed the flowers that were sent to her after every performance. It was the reason he’d delayed meeting her. He followed her to the restaurant that night because she didn’t go straight home. That was an anomaly.
“What’s your immediate plan?” Smoke asked.
“Fury and Anubis are working it from the corporate angle. For me, I’m going hunting.” He would find the bastard who had her, and he would take him out.
“No, dude. Hunting Molchalin isn’t what you need to do right now. Let the big guys plan the mission. I know you want to tear something apart and make it bleed, but if you go after Molchalin, and they think for a minute it’s related to the visit her father just paid you. She’s dead. You know it, and so do I.”
Harbinger leaned forward and ran his hand through his hair. “I feel so fucking helpless, and yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I want to kill the people responsible for this. I’m going to kill them. Copy?”
“Yeah, I get it. I do. I’ve been where you’re at. I’ve killed my way back to Charley. No one is going to take that from you,” Smoke reassured him. “But you have to give the Guardian machine time to move. You know as well as I do if a mission isn’t constructed with the right assets in the right places, shit will go to hell real quick. Don’t move on this. Not yet.”
“I can’t just sit here.” He’d go insane.
“Then call the housekeeper, get your killer cat back, and in the meantime, I’ll send you what information we have on Archambeau. It isn’t much. You probably know more than I do. Use your connections in Paris and start them working on what the fucker is doing now. Gather information and work this like a target with no folio from your end. Don’t go insane. Help is on the way. That’s a promise from me to you. You have my word.”
“I’m holding you to that, Smoke.”
“You know you can, my friend. Whatever it takes.”
“As long as it takes. Just don’t take long.”
Smoke grunted. “As fast as humanly possible. I’m clear.”
Harbinger disconnected and stared at his phone. “One step at a time.” Leaning forward, he dialed a number to a very unsavory individual who owed him many favors. They’d never met, but Harbinger was calling in the favors today. The man was connected to every illegal and illicit enterprise in the city. If anyone wanted to know what was happening in the underbelly of Paris, Mathieu would be able to find out.
“My friend, it’s been a long time,” Mathieu said in English.
“I’m calling in all my favors.” Harbinger didn’t beat around the bush.
“What is it you need?”
“Pierre Archambeau. I want to know what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with.”
“I assume you mean nonlegitimate business.”
“I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t.”
“When?”
“As soon as humanly possible.” He wanted the information now.
“I’ll have it to you this time tomorrow.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Good. And this will clear all debt?”
“Yes. All debt,” Harbinger assured him before disconnecting.